Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #14 May 2015 | Página 56

Part Three – Phelan’s Select I listen to the creaks, and they form a rhythm for the story. It is still bitterly cold, but the food and spirit the Ferryman fed me has revived me somewhat. He doesn’t sound like he’s slowing, and I try to calculate how much time I have left before we reach the other side and what is waiting for me there. I am barely conscious of my own voice. The well-rehearsed words of the story spill out like water from a finely wrought fountain. *** “So Phelan and Padraig follow Andarta back to her home, a hovel by our standards, all mud and straw and badly made doors and windows. Inside even Padraig can smell the approach of death, and he gags and goes to wait outside whilst his father bestows his favour. Then, Phelan pours something from a stoppered flask into a tankard and gets the man to drink it. A couple of hours later the three are ready to leave. *** Padraig marvelled at Andarta’s skill at hunting, but more that he was starting to lust after her, which he knew was wrong, but couldn’t help himself. Andarta had proved to be a very taciturn companion, seldom speaking, spending much of her time brooding and staring into space. Which gave Padraig plenty of chances to steal surreptitious glances at her. Phelan seemed content every morning that Andarta was still there and didn’t push her, or even ask her to do anything. Every day she disappeared for long periods of time and always returned with a brace of game, rabbits one day, pheasants the next, even a small deer once. The land southwest of Malvin’s holding became hilly, great rolling green humpbacks. The number of habitations became fewer and eventually stopped altogether. The three mostly journeyed in silence, but occasionally Phelan felt the need to lecture Padraig and invariably at these times Andarta became restless and took herself off ahead across the hills until they could no longer see her. Thus it was when they came across the dashing man in red. Andarta was nowhere to be seen, and Phelan was interrupted mid-flow when they heard the irrepressible singing ahead. Father glanced at son, who glanced at father in return. They climbed the next hill and were greeted by the sight of a man in garish, but fine, bright red clothing singing to Andarta, who sat with her arms around her knees, looking up at the handsome stranger with a smile upon her face, which was like a dagger to Padraig’s heart. When they approached the stranger finished with a flourish and then bowed low to them. “Welcome to the Lands of the Green Salmon travellers from the Lands of the Red Bull. Welcome!” “Alun! Last I heard you were off on another mad quest, to visit the lands of the Siren to the south?” Phelan said, obviously recognising the man. “Yes, well, seems Elise beat me to it. And it was a mad 56